


What You've Been Is Not On Buses

by Chash



Series: Charity Drive 2017 [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke isn't sure what to make of waking up on a bus with a hot guy smiling at her, but she's more than willing to figure it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stayalivelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayalivelou/gifts).



> This is an alt-POV of [Just a Stranger On the Bus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7151087), which I would ordinarily post in my alt-POV collection, but it's also a charity fill, so I wanted to put it in the right series. But while I was debating where to put it, I came up with a dorky title for it, so it gets to be its own work. I hope we all enjoyed this insight into my mental processes.

Clarke opens her eyes to the sight of a really hot guy peering at her anxiously, and for a confused second, she thinks maybe she died, and heaven involves pretty boys with soft-looking curls shaking her shoulder. Which would be pretty great, as afterlives go, but--she hopes she wouldn't be on a bus if she was dead. Death shouldn't be a _bus_.

"Uh, hi," says the guy, as Clarke tries to get her brain in order. She's got to be alive, and this is a handsome stranger who is clearly worried about her. She should be doing something, but she can't figure out what. "You're, uh--you fell asleep?" he continues, and that's the final piece. She's on the bus, going back to Raven's, and she was so tired and jetlagged she passed out.

But she didn't get herself killed, like her mother said she would if she took the bus home, so score one for her. In contrast to all the points she's losing for falling asleep in the first place.

The hot guy is still talking. "And I have no idea if you missed your stop or--I just wanted to make sure you didn't get too far out since this is the last bus," he finishes, with a nervous, dorky little smile.

She sits up straighter, adjusts her glasses, and looks around. Aside from the two of them, the bus is pretty empty, and it's mostly older guys. None of them are paying attention to her, but--she feels a flutter of anxiety. That _was_ stupid of her.

The hot guy better actually be nice, and not just trying to get her alone.

"Oh fuck. Shit, thank you," she remembers to add, flashing him a smile. "Where are we?"

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh--honestly, I don't know."

It's not encouraging. "You don't know?"

"I should have gotten off a few stops back I was just, uh--I was kind of worried about you? But I didn't want to be creepy, waking you up."

"Okay, so--what was your plan?" It's maybe an unfair question, but she can't help being curious. He looks so embarrassed. Which, okay, they appear to now be lost on a bus together, so maybe he should be. But in a cute way.

"I didn't really have a plan," he admits. "It's late, I noticed you were asleep, uh--I just felt shitty leaving you here alone as we got farther and farther out of town."

"So you skipped your stop to watch me sleep."

He winces. "And then my sister told me I needed to wake you up and not be a creeper."

"Solid advice. I feel like all this stuff could be part of a con," she says, but it comes out teasing. She tries not to be a sucker for a pretty face, but--it's a _very_ pretty face. And he looks so genuinely worried she has trouble believing he's actually up to no good.

"Yeah, but--" There's a pause. "Talking through all the better ways I could assault you would be a bad plan, right? Just--like I said, I have a sister. And I'm bringing her up because she has a part-time job in a really sketchy neighborhood and has code words she uses to let me know if she's calling because she's worried about her safety. I'm not one of those guys who doesn't take violence against women seriously unless I pretend I'm related to them." He falters, scrubs his hand over his face. "How much am I fucking this up? Like, on a scale from one to ten."

She smiles. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm not sure what you're trying to do."

"I just don't want you to get mugged. Or die on the bus."

"Appreciated."

His phone vibrates, and he checks it, shakes his head, and shows her the texts, an ongoing conversation with someone named Octavia. He said, _Text me in like five minutes to prove you're a real person_ , which explains the picture: a cute brunette holding a piece of paper that says, _I'm a real person, my brother is a dumbass 6/17/16_. There's a broad family resemblance, in level of hotness if nothing else, and Clarke has to smile.

"Actual proof I was talking to my sister," he supplies.

"Wow. Is everyone in your family really paranoid?"

"That too. But a few months ago she was talking to some guy on tinder who thought she was catfishing him so he made her send a picture including the date and time. So I guess that's her new way to prove she exists."

"She is cute, I guess I can see why he thought she wasn't real."

He looks amused, and she should maybe figure out a good way to let him know she's bisexual. Not that anything is going to happen, but--well, she could clarify that something _could_. That she's not _just_ into cute girls.

Or she could be way too tired to interact with people. That might also be happening.

"Thanks," he says. "I think."

The speaker crackles with the name of the next stop. It's not Elm and Washington, so it's meaningless to Clarke.

The guy frowns. "I sort of know where that is."

"I have no idea," says Clarke, bright, and hits the button anyway. She'll feel better figuring out where to go when she's not on the bus. "What's your name?"

"Bellamy."

She nods. "Hi, Bellamy, I'm Clarke. You want to get an Uber?"

He doesn't hesitate, but she's still not worried. He already said he missed his stop, so it's not surprising he wants a way to get home. And he did miss his stop worrying about her, so--there's some level on which she owes him. 

Assuming he isn't planning to murder her. 

Which reminds her, she should check in with Raven.

 **Me** : Fell asleep on the bus, probably missed my stop, getting an Uber with a hot good Samaritan, I hope  
If I'm not back in like half an hour tell the police I got killed

 **Raven** : Cool, got it  
You think he's gonna stab you?  
I feel like bus guys use shivs  
Make sure he hits organs, it's way too late for anyone to find you and save you now  
So you might as well just die and get it over with

 **Me** : Yeah, that's always been my attitude  
I'll let you know how the Uber goes

She can't help a glance at Bellamy, leaning over his own phone, texting himself. He has freckles, and an unbelievable profile. It's honestly somewhat unfair. What's a guy who looks like that doing on the last bus of the night, with all the surly weirdos?

 _Tbh if he's not a murderer I might just try to follow him home_ , she adds to Raven. It's not really true; she's exhausted and out of it, but there's something exciting about thinking about it. She hasn't thought about that in a while.

Bellamy looks up from his phone, so she stashes hers and gives him a sunny smile. "She says if you're going to shiv me at least do it somewhere where I'll die from the stab wound instead of bleeding out. Make it quick."

"Huh," he says, slow. "Does she have a list of those places memorized, or does she just expect me to know?"

"I think she thinks you shiv a lot of people."

"I like to think of myself as an enthusiastic amateur," he says, quickly enough that Clarke thinks he didn't think about how it might come across. He's just making a shitty joke, and it's impossible not to smile.

"Everyone's got to start somewhere."

When they get off the bus, it's awkward for a minute. Clarke gets out her phone and checks the map, trying to figure out where she is, and Bellamy just sticks his hands in his pockets and bounces on his feet a little. It's late and Clarke has no idea what he was doing on that bus, but he's probably exhausted. And he's far from home, just to help her.

"I don't actually know how to get an Uber," he admits, when he catches her watching him. "I'm more of a public transportation guy. But I'll pay you back."

"Where do you live?" she asks without thinking, and shakes her head when just raises his eyebrows. "I know like five street names, I don't know why I'm even asking. I was supposed to get off at Elm and Washington."

He smiles a little. "Yeah? That's the stop after mine."

"So I definitely overshot."

"In your defense, you were asleep." He pauses, like he's figuring out the wisdom of adding, "And apparently not from around here."

"No." Her Uber app has loaded, and it's looking pretty grim. But when she switches to maps and plugs in Raven's address, it's really not a bad walk. At least for her. She'd be waiting for the Uber as long it would take to get back, and while she's pretty sure Bellamy won't let her go alone, she could get the car to come pick him up Raven's. He could hang out at her apartment, if he needed to. If she wasn't staying on Raven's couch, she'd say he could just stay the night, honestly. "The Uber's gonna take a while," she tells him, with an apologetic smile."Apparently no one's nearby. But--it's only like a mile for me? And if you're only a stop away--"

"I could walk," he says, before she can offer to get the Uber to Raven's.

"You don't even know how far it is," she points out. If he's conning her, he's really good at it. She'd definitely be getting scammed by a pro. 

He shrugs and gets his own phone again. "Yeah, but it's not like I'm doing anything else. Like a mile and a half, it's fine," he adds, once he's checked his map.

"But that's from here. It might be less direct, if you walk me."

"I'll live." At her dubious look, he shrugs again, and she thinks he might be blushing again. "I already missed my stop on the train, and it's midnight on a Thursday. What else am I doing?"

"Sleeping, I assume."

"Yeah, that's not gonna make much difference." He gestures down the street. "Come on, you've got a map up, right? Lead the way."

"If you're sure. We're going--" She turns around, checking the cross streets to make sure they're actually going the right way. For all she relies on google maps, she feels like she always has at least one false start before she gets herself oriented. "This way."

Bellamy snorts. "Fuck, we're totally gonna get lost, aren't we?"

"I tried to warn you."

"If someone shivs me, try to get them to make it quick," he says, with a heavy sigh. "I want to die from the wound."

"Deal."

She manages to actually be going the right way to begin with, and she's feeling surprisingly awake and alert. It's been a weird trip, so far, and maybe that's why she's letting her brain run away with Bellamy. Nothing she's done since she got off the plane has felt quite real, seen through the haze of jetlag and sleep deprivation. Her interview was at least _good_ , but the benefit was basically an out-of-body experience.

This feels like a movie, in a weird way. The kind of experience real people don't have. She can lean into it.

"So, what were you doing on the last bus?" she asks.

"I work a few nights a week as a bartender. Just weeknights so I can leave before public transport shuts down. What about you?"

She makes a face. "Job interview followed by a hospital benefit."

"No wonder you fell asleep." His voice is dry as sand, and she has to laugh.

"That's honestly mostly jetlag."

"Where are you jetlagged from?"

It always feels a little pretentious to say, but--she's proud of herself, too. She worked her ass off for to get where she is, and aside from the money, she thinks her mother didn't really have much to do with it. "I'm finishing up my masters program in Oxford."

She can't read his tone when he says, "Wow."

"What?"

"Just, masters at Oxford, hospital benefit--it really sounds like you have your life together, but you fell asleep on a bus in the middle of the night, so--"

Her laugh surprises her, but--he's got a point. "Again, jetlag. I'm here for like two days. But that's not the first time I've fallen asleep on a bus," she admits, in the interest of full disclosure. 

And she might want to make him laugh too.

He doesn't quite get there, but he at least sounds kind of reluctantly charmed. "Jesus. How have you not gotten robbed?"

"I usually have a buddy."

"Clearly you need one."

"We traveled a lot when I was a kid. I'm just used to sleeping in moving vehicles."

"That's a weird thing to do a lot," he says. It's not quite a question, but it feels like a prompt, and she's not ready to take it. He has enough context clues to know she's rich, but--it's a nice conversation, and she doesn't want to derail it with _oh, your mom's my governor_ yet.

It's an awkward thing to tell someone. She grew up on the campaign trail.

"So, you're a bartender," she says, bright, and he huffs out a laugh.

"Smooth transition."

"I thought so."

"I'm a bartender and I work at a coffee shop," he says. "Working on getting a degree in my spare time."

"Which it sounds like you have a ton of," she says, trying to do some calculations in her head. Clarke's the kind of person who _likes_ to be busy, but she doesn't have to be, and she knows she's very lucky. Bellamy sounds like the kind of person who can't afford to sit still. "No, seriously, that's really cool," she adds. "I mean--our entire educational system is fucked and it sucks that we don't have better support for, you know, everyone getting a higher degree, but--" He's watching her, dubious, and her voice dies. "Honestly, I don't have a way to finish that that doesn't sound patronizing. I'm rich and lucky, and it sucks that you're not, but--what are you studying?"

His laugh is nice enough she barely even minds the embarrassment. "That almost makes up for how badly I fucked up on the bus," he says, which is enough to make her not mind at all. "I'm studying history. I want to teach, assuming someone will hire me."

"Awesome. I hope they do."

"What's your masters in?"

"Art History," says Clarke. "Job interview was at the art museum."

"And the hospital benefit?"

She exhales. "My mom is very rich and wanted me to go."

"I was kind of getting that impression." His eyes sweep over her, like he's sizing her up, and she hopes he likes what he sees. "But you're not staying with your rich mom," he finally says. "You're staying with your friend and riding the bus."

"Yeah."

He nods, mostly to himself. "Poor little rich girl?"

She has to laugh. He's not _wrong_. "Poor little rich girl, yeah. How old is your sister?"

"Twenty-two. Just finishing up college. That's where most of my money was going. I used to have three jobs," he adds, like this is something he's worried she's going to think is somehow bad.

Clarke knows about money issues like that in a sort of theoretical way. She knows what politicians say about it. She's seen people who do this kind of thing speaking as political tools. But it's just Bellamy's life, and he seems more embarrassed than anything. Which is just--wrong. Every single thing he says basically just makes him, well-- _better_. And he'd started out pretty great to begin with.

"Jesus, really?" she blurts out, which is maybe not the best way to put it.

"What?"

"So, you're hot," she says, counting off on her fingers. "You're kind of awkwardly charming. You're working two jobs to put yourself and your sister through college. Let me guess, you raised her too?"

"Uh, just for a few years." She just looks at him, and he folds, of course. He's some kind of superhero. It's fine. The whole night is fucking surreal. "Yeah, our mom died when she was thirteen."

"And you were?" she prompts.

"Nineteen."

She's too tired for this. This is the kind of guy she should be meeting in broad daylight, when she's gotten enough sleep, and her brain is fully online, and she's wearing a top that shows off her breasts, instead of being dressed in awkward business clothes that she tried to repurpose into party attire so she didn't have to go back to Raven's after her interview. She should be nailing this. She wants to be.

But she's a disaster right now, so she just asks, "Do you get kittens out of trees or is that too cliched?"

He's still looking kind of vaguely perplexed, but he shakes out of it and seems to be really considering his answer. "I've never actually seen a kitten up a tree before. Or, not one that seemed upset about it, I guess." He pauses and adds, "There was this cat who lived near our apartment when I was growing up that was in trees all the time, but it was a fucking asshole."

"Well, that's something."

There's another pause, and then he asks, "Is this a rich-person thing? Romanticizing poverty?"

"No way, I wouldn't want to do what you're doing. Poverty sucks, I can't even imagine. Just, come on. You have to admit, that's a ridiculous level of perfection," she can't help adding. Maybe she really _did_ die on the bus. 

"Okay, yeah, that's weird."

"I think you're still ahead on weird, though," she says, although she's not really sure it's true. "Seriously, this is just--kind of next-level good guy shit."

"It's not. It's just--normal."

The thing is, Clarke is sure there _are_ people who do all these individual things. If Wells saw a girl asleep on the bus, he'd try to figure out how to help. If Clarke had a younger sibling, and her parents passed away, she likes to think she'd step up and take care of them. But it's not normal to have to make those decisions, and she's pretty sure plenty of people would be bragging about their accomplishments, instead of vaguely embarrassed. 

"You missed your stop on the bus to make sure I didn't get mugged and now you're walking me home," she finally tells him, because anything else would probably be too much. "No one else did that. You are a great guy, Bellamy whatever your last name is."

"Blake."

"Bellamy Blake."

He snorts, shakes his head. "I'm chalking this one up to jetlag. And you clearly have bad judgement because you were, again, asleep on a bus."

"So, tell me about your other hobbies. Convince me here."

"I get in a lot of fights on reddit."

She considers it. There are basically two ways that one could go, and she's pretty sure she knows which one this is. "Is it because they're misogynist douchebags?" she asks.

He coughs, clearly embarrassed. "Also racist."

"Yeah, you're a monster. What else?"

"I dunno. I play video games and watch documentaries. I don't make a habit of rescuing girls on public transportation."

She might be beaming. "So, I'm special?"

"Again, no one else is falling asleep on that bus. Ever."

"So," she says, drawing out the word deliberately, "you _would_ make a habit of it, except it doesn't come up. Like kittens in trees."

"I think you might be the asshole cat up the tree."

Now she's definitely beaming. "I'm absolutely the asshole cat up the tree. Tell me more about your sister."

They chat about fairly inconsequential things as they make their way back. Clarke finds out that Bellamy's sister is named Octavia and she's studying economics, that hasn't ever left the country, but wants to, and that she has a pretty good read on him, just from the last few hours.

He doesn't react to the name _Wells_ , so he doesn't keep up with local politics well enough for it to occur to him that she might means Wells Jaha. Which just makes her feel guiltier, because at some point she should definitely mention that her mother is Governor Griffin, if they're going to hang out more. It's just polite.

But she's got a couple months, and his phone number. So she has time to figure it out.

When they get to Raven's apartment, she's honestly a little disappointed. She was having _fun_ "This is me," she says, jerking her head toward the building. "But--thanks. I really appreciate your awkward chivalry."

It feels kind of inadequate, but he smiles. "I get that a lot." His tongue darts out to wet his lips, which is really inconsiderate of him. He has really nice lips. "When do you head back to England?"

"Tomorrow night."

He looks away, and Clarke thinks she knows how he feels. She'd like to have longer too. "Short trip," is all he says, though.

"Really just for the interview, yeah." She debates with herself for a second, but she already has his number, and he clearly _likes_ her. There's no reason to be nervous. So she leans up, presses a kiss to his cheek. It's rough with stubble, warm under her lips, and he smells like apple pie spice and crisp air and just a little like booze, but in a nice way. "I'm done in a couple months, like I said. Planning to move back here whether I get this job or not. So--make sure you save my number, okay? I'm good with being weird bus girl in your contacts. I deserve that."

Judging by his expression, the night has been just as surreal and awesome for him as it has for her. "Cool." He nods, once, and gives her a little wave. "Have a good rest of the night, Clarke."

"You too," she says, but it's so _stupid_ "Fuck, whatever," she mutters, and fists her hands in his shirt to drag him down for a kiss. He responds instantly, huge hands settling on her hips, mouth opening for her, and it's such a good kiss she almost wants to ask if she can come home with him, just so she can do it for the rest of the night.

But his smile is so soft, and she really wants to do this right. And he must too, because he says, "I'll buy you dinner. Basically any time you want."

"So I'll see you in a few months, Bellamy Blake," she says, and he ducks his head on a smile.

"Yeah, I hope so."

She doesn't let herself look back as she goes to the door and unlocks it; she waits until she's on the second floor and checks the window. He's still watching the building, and it's too dark for her to make out his expression very well, but she's pretty sure he's still dazed.

She knows she is.

She makes herself leave the window and let herself into Raven's apartment. She's on the couch playing video games, looks Clarke up and down.

"Guess you didn't get stabbed. By a shiv or his dick."

"Nope," she says, flopping down next to Raven. "But I got his number. And we made out a little."

"When?"

"Outside. Just--seriously, he's _so_ hot."

Raven snorts. "So, what's the plan?"

"Texting. Maybe skype, I don't know. He said he'd buy me dinner when I got back, I think he probably will."

"I meant tomorrow, but, sure, that too."

Clarke's eyes drift shut. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Your flight's not until seven, and it's only an hour to the airport, so you're free until four and I'm going to be at work. I won't be offended if you grab lunch with him instead of me."

"Oh. I guess I maybe could, right?"

"You might even be awake enough to talk to him," Raven teases.

"He sounds like he's pretty busy. He works a bunch of jobs and he's in school. But I could try, right?"

"Up to you," she says. When Clarke opens her eyes, she sees that Raven's already back to playing video games. "I'm just saying, might as well, right? Get the first date in, make sure you actually like him when you're not half dead on your feet."

She pulls out her phone and texts him, _I have international texting, so don't be a stranger_ , just to see what he says.

 **Bellamy** : I'm already a stranger.

 **Me** : Correction: I have international texting, so stop being a stranger.

 **Bellamy** : In that case, you won't believe the weirdo I met on the bus today.

 **Me** : What a coincidence, me too.

 **Bellamy** : I bet mine's weirder.

 **Me** : This sounds like the kind of thing we should settle over a meal  
Raven pointed out I'm free for lunch  
If you're interested and not working  
I feel like I owe you a meal

He doesn't respond for long enough that she's nervous he might actually not want to, or think it's weird, or something, and she rests her head on Raven's shoulder, half-sleeping until the phone finally buzzes in her hand.

 **Bellamy** : I'm working at the coffee shop from 11 to 7, and I just get half an hour for lunch.  
But I could fit breakfast in if you wanted.  
Sorry, my schedule sucks.

 **Clarke** : No, breakfast is good  
Just tell me where and when

She meets him the next morning at a diner a few blocks away. He's wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt, his hair just as messy as she remembered. He's got his own pair of glasses now too, and his mouth tugs up in half a smile when he sees her.

"Honestly, I wasn't sure you were gonna come. I figured you might have realized I could be a serial killer."

"Anyone could be a serial killer. You're not special."

He laughs. "Yeah, okay. I guess I didn't think of that. I'm going to be so much more paranoid from now on." He runs his hand through his messy hair, gives her another helpless smile. "So, uh, hi. Again. You really like me, huh."

"You made a really good first impression. I'm a little worried about your taste in women, though."

"Well, you're rich, right? I could be a gold-digger. It sounds kind of fun."

She has to smile. "You have no idea."

He cocks his head at her. "About which part?"

She slides her arm into his to lead him inside. He can't be much more than four or five inches taller than she is, the perfect height, and he's just as warm and firm as she remembers from last night. And he's still smiling. "Everything about my life. But that's why you go on dates with people, right?"

He seems to be thinking it over, and then asks, "This is going to be a really fucking weird relationship, isn't it? I already feel like I'm five steps behind."

"I told you you shouldn't pick up girls on the bus," she points out.

He lets go of her arm when they get to the table, slides into the booth across from her instead. "Yeah, I heard." He shrugs one shoulder. "I think it's going to work out for me, though."

And, if Clarke says so herself, it really does.


End file.
